


Robitussin

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-23
Updated: 2003-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Robitussin - better than truth serum... at least on some people.





	Robitussin

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Robitussin**

**by:** Sophia

**Character(s):** Josh, Donna  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Romance  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Last time I checked I was not a millionaire.  
**Summary:** Robitussin – better than truth serum… at least on some people.  
**Spoiler:** Up to Season 5 but nothing specific.  
**Author's Note:** The first part came to me in a Robitussin haze then my beloved beta Shelley decided she wanted more.  And those of you with betas know you do what they want. **Feedback:** I live for feedback.  


In 2 hours and 27 minutes I can take more Robitussin.  It's truly sad when all you have to look forward to in a day is your next dose of Robitussin.  It's not even Nyquil, but I'm thrilled that I get to take some more anyway. 

If I were a normal person, if I worked in a normal office, I would take a sick day.  But my first February in the West Wing disabused me of that notion.  I had the worst case of the flu I've ever had.  Everything hurt.  It hurt to think about how much it hurt.  So I called in sick. You know, so I could stay home, keep warm, drink hot liquids and get better.  Josh called 10 times before 9 o'clock.  In the morning.  I ended up at my desk by 10am.  I just suffered through the week.  It was easier to deal with work when I was actually there than when I was at home.  I doubt Josh even noticed I was heavily medicated and ready to drop.  He just had to have me at my desk; handing him files and telling him what time it was.  Sick day?  What's a sick day? 

This isn't the flu, but it's a pretty nasty cold.  I've been coughing non-stop for almost three days.  I can't sleep at night because of the cough and the aching.  I would take Nyquil to sleep, but then I'd have a hard time walking up if someone called and needed me to do something right away.  I need to sleep.  I need to do something about the raw feeling in my throat.  I want to get better.  I have a fleece scarf wrapped around my neck.  I am guzzling honey laced lemon tea like it's going out of style.  I'm popping so many vitamins I'm afraid what people might be thinking I'm taking.  But the United States government doesn't sleep, so here I am, working on reports.  Oh and I don't think I have EVER been this cranky. 

A little insight into exactly how cranky I am?  In between reports I started to make a list of all the female names I could think of that ended in Y, and then tried to figure out the name of the next shrew Josh will decide to date.  Betsy is currently in the lead.  I could see Josh falling head over heals for some brunette Democratic wunderkind named Betsy.  Couldn't you?  "Hi, I graduated from Vassar and Harvard Law.  I save baby harp seals in my spare time when I'm not building low cost housing for inner city children.  And I'm a direct descendent of Betsy Ross.  We should get married and have little Democrats."  Yeah I could see it.  You look amazing, my ass!  But hey, who's bitter.  Can't be me, I love my life. 

2hrs and 3 minutes until I can take my Robitussin. 

********************* 

It never ceases to amaze me, the way no one ever seems to go home.  It's Saturday morning, yet you'd think it was the middle of the week from the number of people at their desks.   Somewhere in this teaming mass of humanity is my daughter.  I know Zoey came this way; maybe she went to see Josh. 

As I reach his bullpen, I hear an awful noise.  I turn the last corner towards Josh's office to see who is at work while so obviously sick.  I'm not that surprised to find out who it is.  

Donna's coughing fit leaves her breathless, she's resting her head against her desk waiting for her breathing to return to normal.  Poor dear, she shouldn't be here.  She should go home. 

"Donna, you should go home.  You aren't going to get any better working instead of resting." 

She stands, and that seems to cause another wave of coughs.  Donna's sense of protocol is so ingrained at this point she would put herself into a physically painful situation to observe it.  Moments like this make me long for the first campaign when we were all on the same level; when no one stood when I entered the room.  I push her back into her chair and slide my fingers to the base of her throat.  Her pulse is a little quick but that's probably just from the cough.  I place the back of my fingers against her forehead. 

"You're burning up.  What on earth are you doing here?" 

"Summarizing reports from various agencies, Ma'am.  I have a backlog to get through and Josh has meetings all day.  The government doesn't stop running just because I don't feel well."  Her eyes are a little glazed and I can't help but notice the bottle of cough medicine on her desk.  The poor girl looks so tired.  She can't stay here.  I'm about to tell her to get her bag and pack her in to a car when she looks me straight in eye and asks, "Dr Bartlet?  When did you stop liking me?"

"WHAT?"  What on Earth is she talking about? 

"You used to like me.  On the first campaign you used to tell me jokes and you looked happy when Zoey and I would hang out, and then you stopped liking me.  What did I do wrong?"  She looks like she might cry any minute and I have no idea where this is coming from. 

"Donna I DO like you.  You're a sweet, wonderful girl.  Why would you think I don't like you?"  I really have no idea what she's talking about.  I kneel down next to her and run my fingers through the hair at her temple, trying to calm her down.  Make her understand.  Trying to understand myself.  Why would she think I don't like her? 

"If you like me, even just a little, why did you bring Amy into our lives, not once but twice?  Why would you pick her over me?" 

Oh God, what did I do?  I knew, I always knew, like everyone always knew, what Josh and Donna are to each other.  But I thought they would never do anything about it.  I thought it was time for them to move on.  Donna dated other people; it's only now that I understand that those people were never threats to her relationship with Josh. 

"Donna, I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry.  I thought Amy and Josh would be good for each other.  I thought he needed to grow up and I knew Amy wouldn't take any of his bullshit.  I thought he needed someone who wouldn't take care of him.  I was wrong." 

"Yea, you were wrong.  Josh doesn't need someone who won't take care of him.  He needs someone to take care of.  He needs someone to trust that he will always be there to take care of her; that he will put her first.  Amy was just someone to spar with and have sex with.  There was no sharing of ideals, ideas or love.  And you choose HER."  I should never try to match make ever again.  Donna is right, but I'm only seeing it now.  She knows what Josh needs, and she needs him the same way.  All I did was cause them more pain and now Donna thinks I don't like her. 

"Angel, I am so sorry.  Can you please forgive me?  I was wrong."  I pull her forward in her chair and wrap my arms around her.  I don't know how to make her feel better.  How to make her understand the she is like one of my children.  She's part of the family. 

I hold her tight and try to tell her all of this with my hug but she pulls away from me after only a moment.  I understand why when I hear the sounds of Leo and Josh discussing the failings of various senators.  I do not, however, stop running my fingers through the hair at her temple and sweeping it behind her ear.  After the first few times, she starts to lean into my touch and I think I may be forgiven.  But I still have to get her out of this place and somewhere where she can get some rest. 

"Leo, I'm just saying that we need to make these guys understand we aren't going to take this kind of behavior lying down.  They're supposed to be Democrats; they need to start acting like it." 

"Does the term 'preaching to the choir' mean anything to you, Josh?"  I know the minute Leo notices me.  His spine straightens the way I'm sure it did in the military.  I don’t like that Donna feels the need to stand for me, but Leo… I like that Leo is forced to show a high level of deference.   "Dr Bartlet, is there something you need?"  I also like that he's back to addressing me as Doctor.

How wrong is it that I'm enjoying the way Leo is still slightly afraid of me? 

"Yes, Leo, I need your deputy to take the rest of the day off so that he can take care of Donna."  Poor Josh, I think he's only now realizing how sick Donna is.  The look on his face tells again exactly how wrong I was to think that he and Donna would never find their way.  His eyes are trained on Donna and I can tell from watching residents learn bedside manners that he is taking in the tired look in her eyes, how limp her usually sparkling hair is, how her skin has lost so much of its color.  He's cataloging how she looks different and I think he's mentally going back and realizing how long she's been sick and he hasn't noticed.

"What's wrong with Donna?"  My husband is a man who knows how to make an entrance. 

****************************************** 

I've been wandering around looking for either my wife or my youngest daughter.  I can't find my family in my own house.  Says something about my family or me.  I prefer to think it says something about my family. 

I find Abbey at Donna's desk with Leo and Josh.  My appearance causes Donna to rise from her seat.   Which triggers a horrible coughing fit.  Now I understand why Josh needs to take the girl home.  Her cough sounds dry and painful.  Abbey and Josh ease her back into her chair as she tries to get her breathing under control. 

"Josh, do you have any scotch at your place?"  Abbey's question causes Josh to look at his hand and we all remember a winter not too far past. 

"Not anymore, Ma'am.  Why?"  I can't help but notice the way Abbey's fingers sweep through Donna's hair.  It reminds me of something but I can't quite put my finger on what that something is. 

"Jed!"   My mind snaps to attention as my wife calls my name.  "Go get a nice bottle of scotch for Donna."  Why do I have to give up a bottle of my scotch?  Why can't Josh buy her some scotch?  I'm a smart enough man not to say any of this out loud. 

"Mmmm…  Oban smoke, Islay malt… I miss good scotch.  My grandpa Moss drank scotch.  He was so nice.  Taught me all about how it's made.  You'd have liked him.  He was a good man."  Donna leans closer against my wife's side. 

"Make that a VERY nice bottle of scotch."  The look in her eye tells me not to argue, but I wouldn't anyway because I just remembered what Abbey's treatment of Donna reminds me of… this is how she touched our girls when they were sick.  Sometime this afternoon, Donna became an official member of the family.  My gaze drifts to Josh as I start to think about whether this man I think of as a son is really good enough for Donna.  But my wonderings will have to wait since I am being forced to give up a GOOD bottle of my scotch. 

"Ma'am, why does Donna need a bottle of scotch?  She's sick; shouldn't I take her back to her apartment and give her some Nyquil?"  Josh is very confused by all this attention to his girl.  But I notice that his hand hasn't left her shoulder since she sat back down. 

"The scotch is for her throat, and to help her sleep.  And you need to take her to your apartment because she needs to be in a nice warm place.  And I think that since you made her come into work when she was this sick, and you can't tell me she hasn't had symptoms for days, you should be the one to foot the heating bill." 

Emotions run across Josh's face, fast and furious.  I watch as his eyes show his confusion, his fear and finally his guilt at not recognizing what my doctor / wife caught right away… how sick Donna is right now.

  
Abbey obviously has this situation in hand, so off I go to pick out a good bottle of scotch for Donna.  I have the feeling tonight will be very educational for Josh.  He's going to learn what it's like to take care of the most important person in his life instead of the other way around.  Should be VERY interesting. 

**************************

I wrapped her in my coat because it's warmer.  I turned up the heat in my car.  I have a bottle of scotch from the President.  But when you get right down to it, I don't know how to take care of Donna.  She's coughing that horrible dry cough and leaning her warm forehead against the cool window of the car door as we head towards my apartment.  It's just now catching up to me that I have to take care of Donna.  She's always the one taking care of me.  I can't mess this up.  I can't let her down.  She needs me.  And I don't know what to do.

But I'm a smart man.  And I have a cell phone.  "Mom?"  

"Joshua?  It's 11am on a Saturday.  Is everything okay?  Josh, what's that sound?  Are you alright?"  Mom gets nervous if I call outside our regularly scheduled Sunday morning catch up time.  

"I'm fine, Mom.  That sound is Donna.  She has a bad cold and the First Lady sent us home and told me to take care of her.  But I don't know what to do.  Do you starve a cold and feed a fever or is it the other way around?  Dr Bartlet gave her a bottle of scotch but didn't tell me how much she should drink.  And her cough sounds really bad but Dr. Bartlet didn't tell me to take her to hospital."  All that flows out of my mouth in a rush.  Then in a smaller voice I tell my mother what I have always feared, "I don't know how to take care of Donna, Mom.  Can you help me?"

"Oh Joshua, it will it'll be okay."  I love my mother.  She'll know what to do.  "Are you taking her to your place?"

"Yeah, Dr Bartlet said that since Donna should be kept warm, my heating bill should suffer not hers."  I don't mention the fact that I really didn't notice how sick Donna's been for the last few days until it was pointed out to me by the wife of the leader of the free world.

"Good.  I know she's been under the weather for the last week but she never let on that it had gotten this bad.  When you get her to your place, have her take a hot shower.  The steam and the heat will warm her up and help with that cough.  Then bundle her up and put her in bed.  I'm not a big fan of alcohol for a cold but it helps with some people's sore throats, so give her about two shots.  That should help her throat and get her to relax enough to sleep.  Then you can call out for some chicken soup.  Get it from the Jewish deli down the street from you.  That's Donna's favorite.  Tell them it's for Donna and they'll give you extra matzo balls.  When she wakes up, reheat the soup and let her eat as much as she wants.  If she asks for juice, give her grapefruit juice.  It has all the vitamins she needs but less acid."  I don't ask about the deli because I know the one.  Donna got as addicted to their matzo ball soup as I am the summer she stayed with me.  But I do have a question about the juice.

"Does the juice have to have pulp to be good for her?  Donna doesn't like pulp in her juice."  I do know some things about Donna's eating habits.

"No, but make sure it's a good quality juice.  Let her sleep and keep her warm.  Call me if you need anything else but I think you'll be fine."

"Thanks Mom.  I'll call you later."  I hang up just as we reach my apartment building.  "Come on Donna.  Let's get you to bed."

*********

When I was little, I vaguely remember being taken care of when I was sick.  But as soon as I learned how to take care of myself, well let's just say nurturing wasn't either of my parents' strong suit.  I have always been the caretaker.

When Josh started to wrap me in his coat and bundle me in to his car, I had reservations about placing myself in his care.  It's so far out of the scope of our relationship for him to take care of me.  Bail me out, yes.  Take care of me, no.  But I don't try to kid myself.  I want this.  I want to be taken care of.  And I really want to be taken care of by Josh.

I hear his side of the conversation with his Mom and I decide to just give in to the luxury of being taken care of by the one man I want to take care of me.

Which I guess is what leads to me standing naked in Josh's shower letting steam clear my lungs while hot, hot water warms my chilly bones.  I must have been leaning against the shower walls for a while because Josh is tapping on the bathroom door.

"DONNA?  Are you okay in there?"  He has sounded so worried ever since the First Lady sent us home.  I wish I could make him feel better but I still feel so tired and achy.  Not to mention that cranky thing I had going on this morning, it's still there.  I just pushed it to the back of my mind for the time being.

I turn off the water and wrap myself in one of the big fluffy towels I made Josh buy a couple of years ago when I stayed with him because I simply could not use his small thread bare towels.  Then I go to the door.

"I'm fine Josh.  I'm just tired and cold."  His eyes are focused the towel I have wrapped around me.  "Do you have some sweats I could wear?"  I just want to sleep for a while.  I'll be better able to deal with this situation if I can just sleep for a little while.

*********

She's so beautiful.  Steam rises from her skin.  She has a flush to her that is rosy and sweet.  

I know I'm not supposed to have these thoughts but I can't help it.  She's so beautiful.  Usually I can hide my feelings.  Usually we're at work and I can distract myself but here… in my apartment… it's just too hard to do anything but stare.

Except, she has been entrusted to my keeping.  I have to take care of her.

"Well, I could get you some sweats, but I thought since you're sick and all, these might be more appropriate."  I hand her the blue pajamas CJ gave me.  I made her smile.  I am a king.

"Thank you, Josh."  Her hand brushes against mine as she takes the shirt and pants from me.  Then she pushes me from the doorway so she can change in the bathroom.  

While she's in there, I go to the kitchen and get a glass of ice and the scotch for her.  I bring it in to the bedroom as she's coming out of the bathroom.  And I thought those things were too big for me.  She's doing the backstroke in them.  

"What are you doing?"  What does she mean?

"What do you mean?  I have the scotch I'm supposed to give you."  I hold up the bottle and the glass with ice.

"Fine, but what's the ice for?  Ice doesn't belong in scotch.  Grandpa Moss used to say if you have to cut it with water or ice it's not worth drinking.  Make it go away!!!"  She walks past me and crawls into bed.  My bed.  She crawls into my bed as I stand in the middle of the room with a bottle of scotch and a glass that shouldn't have ice in it.

After dumping said ice in the bathroom sink, I return with just the glass and the bottle.  She's curled up in the bed, so I sit on the edge next to her and open the bottle.  Two fingers of scotch in the glass, just like Mom said.

She takes the glass from me and her head lolls to the side so she can look at me while she tastes the "Very Good" scotch the President gave us.  The look on her face as she drinks…. I can't describe it.  Toby doesn't look like this when he drinks.  Her eyes are closed.  She licks her lips before and after each sip.  She makes these small delicate moans and smiles.  Now I understand why it had to be a "Very Good" bottle.  

"Did you want some more?"  I know I want to watch her drink some more.

"No.  That was good.  I think I want to sleep now.  Is that okay?"  Her eyelids start to droop as she snuggles back against the pillows.  She looks so right, here in my bed.  I stay where I am and brush the hair from her forehead.

I don't know how long we stay like that; her sleeping, me watching her sleep.  But after several long minutes her eyes open and she asks me, "When are you going to stop looking for Joanie?"

Okay, that was out of left field.  Even for Donna.  I rest my fingers against her forehead trying to see if she has a fever, like I would be able to tell.  But it's reflex.  I've seen other people do it.  Her forehead doesn't feel any hotter than before.  "What are you talking about, Donna?  Joanie's dead."

"Then why do you keep dating thin women with dark brown hair whose names end in Y?  Why do you do that if you aren't looking for something?  All I could think of was Joanie.  Explain it to me, Joshua, because I want to understand why you keep doing this to yourself."  Her forehead is crinkled and her mouth has that pout of frustration she gets when she's working on a difficult problem and can't quite figure it out.

"Donna, I'm not looking for Joanie.  I don't know why I end up going out with these women.  But I am not looking for Joanie.  She's gone.  I know that.  And I found what I was looking for a long time ago; I'm just waiting for the right time."  I continue to sweep the hair off her forehead as my words and their meaning sink in.  I know they do when her pout turns into a perfect O of understanding. 

I lean down and place a kiss on her forehead, which feels cooler to me now.  "Sleep now, Donnatella.  And when you wake up we can discuss the possibility of maybe having a little Joanie of our very own one day."  I run my hand across her blanket covered stomach as I say this and feel her body tense and relax against my touch.

"If you get to pick the first name, I get to pick the middle name," is the only response I get as she drifts off to sleep, and I'm left to realize that I will take care of this woman for the rest of my life, and maybe into the next one.

~~ The End ~~


End file.
